


Night-time

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucas North cannot sleep</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night-time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's fan flashworks Midnight challenge

Lucas North listened to Big Ben chiming midnight and wondered how many more hours he would count before he finally fell asleep.  When he’d first started working for MI5 he’d been thrilled when he’d heard the chimes; they’d spoken of permanence and having an important role in society.  Now they merely spoke of time passing, impersonal, taking too long when he was alone, too short when working.  He rolled over to face the window.  
  
It was a full moon tonight and the light shone through the curtains, casting pale shadows into his room.  As a child he’d loved looking out of his bedroom window at the moon, imagining he was in a sailing ship piloting by its light; or a smuggler, using the moonlight to bring ashore rare cargoes and then hiding in the shadows to deliver boxes of rum and tobacco to houses in a cobbled village.  
  
As a young man Lucas had enjoyed walking in the moonlight, watching the night creatures scuttling around, catching sight of an owl hunting, sometimes seeing glimpses of bats as they moved from tree to tree.  Now the moon, friend to lovers, had lost its romance.  The light was no longer friendly and welcoming, but cold and accusing, reminding him of failures, mocking him for losing his youthful joys.  
  
Lucas got out of bed, shivering slightly in the cold air.  He spurned his hoodie, thrown carelessly on the floor, and walked across the room in his thin t-shirt.  In his head he was back in the Russian prison, cold and lonely.  He opened the window, the draft reminding him of the broken panes constantly chilling him at night.   
  
He looked up at the stars, as he had done countless nights before.  He could still identify the constellations, remembering the tales his father had told him when he was a child.  So often in prison he had told himself he was looking at the same stars which could be seen by those at home, keeping the thought as an anchor.  But now he knew it was not the case.  The stars were still the same, but the stories behind them were different, no longer tales of heroes conquering all, but of villainy and betrayal.  
  
Lucas wept.


End file.
